it is wrong, then, to chide the novel for being fascinated by mysterious coincidences, but it is right to chide man for being blind to such coincidences in his daily life.

for he thereby deprives his life of a dimension of beauty.

- The Unbearable Lightness of Being -

when all is stripped away, what are we left with?

or rather, who are we left with.

no one, i think, is in my tree

i mean it must be high or low

that is, you cant, you know, tune in but its alright

that is, i think its not too bad.